A Bad Taste
by The Time Stop Corporation
Summary: Some things leave a bad taste in your mouth, getting exiled and falling in love included.  Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Time Stop: We warned you.

Shadow: I don't feel like doing this.

Wang: Yay!

Time Stop: Wang got this idea from somewhere, and begged us to help him with it.

Wang: Uhuh, uhuh.

Shadow: I still don't like it.

Time Stop: Yes, we are doing a Dramione fic.

Wang: Yes!

Shadow: But, despite Wang's disapproval, we will make this as realistic as possible. So no sudden wackiness from the characters, we try to keep it in perspective.

Wang: Yeah, if they do something crazy, it's 'cause there's a reason.

Shadow: Bloody 'ell. Argh! Now I'm sounding like them!

Time Stop: We don't own anything.

Wang: Nothing at all!

Shadow: Argh!

Prologue: Trial

He smiled a slow smile. Despite the chains, the fear, and rats, and the complete lack of hygiene of any of his…_fellows_; he was having a good day. He watched as the Aurors around them prodded them forward with their wands, enticing snarls of hate from some of the group. He didn't care about that, didn't care about pretty much anything anymore. You see, as a Death Eater and son of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's right hand man, he was high on the most wanted list. So, he inched forward, awaiting his trial.

Today was a good day to face trial. What better day than on his birthday?

She hurried on her way, escorted by Aurors. She didn't need an escort. Doesn't the Ministry already known that it was Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and her, whom stormed Voldemort's fortress and defeated him in a duel? Don't they remember following said three back into the Forbidden Forest to recapture his followers?

Yes, they did, but they still gave her a guard. She sighed softly, making her way through the twisted corridors to the Judgment room. Located deep inside the Ministry of Magic, it was one of the oldest rooms created by wizards. Of course, she didn't want to go. She didn't want to try Death Eaters on a beautiful Saturday Morning. She would rather be with Ron, and sit by the side of the Lake.

But, she had to try and witness for these villains. Even for one of them, who was only her age.

He looked up, once, and saw her walk by the front door. When had he gotten to the front of the line? He didn't know anymore. He only saw her, a mudblood, walk by, escorted by half a dozen Aurors. Even he, her bane of existence, could tell that she didn't need them. Even as he was brought out into the light, and forced to follow her footsteps, he couldn't help but remember something from his past. A time when all was right. When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named didn't exist.

Back before he had gone to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before he met Potter and Weasley and her.

She sat down in her seat, hardly noticing that Harry and her best friend, Ginny, were already there. She watched as the latest prisoner was led away.

"Hey, you all right?"

She turned to the beautiful red head next to her. "Yeah, I'm alright."

"Did you bring my brother with you?"

"No, I honestly thought he was with you two. I thought he would be here already."

Harry glanced up from the paper he held. "It doesn't matter if he wants to be here or not, the door is closing."

She glanced up, and saw the door closing. The prisoner was seated in the center of a room and bounded to the chair. His pale skin bore scars, so many scars. His hair was at one point blonde, but now it was almost stark white.

Then his eyes met hers, and she gasped. They weren't hard, but a something in between of sadness and apologetic.

"Who is this man?" She asked Harry.

But her answer was given by the Speaker of the court. "Draco Malfoy, son of Lucious Malfoy and heir to the Malfoy estate."

Draco looked up. "I am him."

"You have been charged with the crimes against the people. You have been found guilty of joining the group known as the Death Eaters, and the deaths of seven individuals, including Albus Dumbledore. How do you plead?"

Harry muttered under his breath. "Draco never touched Albus. It was Severus who did it. And he did it for the benefit for Albus, for I saw his memories. Albus told Severus to do it. Draco...he was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

She gazed down at the young man below. "If he couldn't kill Professor Dumbledore, then how could he kill anyone else?"

Harry gazed at his enemy, though it wasn't like the feeling he once had on his enemy. Now, instead of anger, he only felt pity. "He was set up. I wish there was a way to save him."

Ginny and her both glanced at Harry with alarm.

"No one deserves that. He...I feel like he had no choice."

Their conversation was interrupted by the Speaker. Under her gaze, everyone quieted. "I...I am guilty of my crimes."

"No!" She cried. Unaware of what she was doing, she had stood up. Beside her, Ginny tried to pull her down but to no avail.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"You can't kill him."

"We never said we would. Draco Malfoy, you will be sentenced to live out life in Azkaban Prison. There will be no-"

"No!"

"Miss Granger! Interrupt again and you will be thrown out of this court! He is convicted of crimes you and your friends and others have given us. The evidence is overwhelming, he cannot go unpunished. There is no way to undo even if I wanted to."

"But I have proof that he didn't kill Professor Dumbledore, nor those other victims."

"Prove it, share to the members of this court that they are wrong." Whispers sprang up from around the audience. This was news to them, this would make the front page.

"Hermione," Harry urged her. "Please don't. If they found out..."

Hermione glanced down at her friend, begging her with his eyes. Then she glanced at Draco, and saw his eyes questioningly looking up at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't. Harry was facing so much about everything right now. If she said he was with Dumbledore when he died, then he would get no rest.

Draco looked up, and saw her stand up, defending him. Why? Did she feel pity for him? He didn't know, didn't care, anymore. He hung his head when she gave up on him. She didn't speak about what proof she had. Proof she was right.

"Then as there is no other interruptions-"

"Wait!"

"Miss Granger! What is it now?"

"I...I then offer the criminal known as Draco Malfoy Wizarding Decree number 253."

"Excuse me, Miss Granger, but please enlighten the court about decree 253."

"This decree," She began, "was set in place on March 17th, 1701. This decree stated that any Witch or Wizard found to be guilty of any wrong doing to the Ministry or the magical community can be sent to the colony of America."

"And why would we do that?"

"The decree stated that the man would have his wand broken, effectively a squib for the rest of his life, under close watch by the British forces. Well, now it would be the American Ministry that would watch over Mr. Malfoy if he went."

The speaker rubbed her chin. "Your idea is promising, but it all depends on my decision, and that of the American Minister. If we so choose it, Draco Malfoy shall hereby be sentenced to exile."

Draco stared up at Hermione. She, she was trying to exile him! That would be worse than Azkaban. He tried to speak, but his voice wouldn't come to him. It was only then he realized he was crying, and he would not stop.

Hours passed, and Draco had been removed back to a holding cell. He sat, and cried. For some reason, the tears wouldn't stop coming. Meanwhile, Hermione sat with Harry and Ginny, waiting for Ron to show up.

Of course, Ron showed up, at the moment the doors closed for the second half of Draco's hearing.

"I, the Speaker of the Wizarding Tribunal find that Decree 253 is suitable for Draco Malfoy's crimes."

"What? What's decree 253?" Ron turned to ask Hermione.

"It means Draco is sent to America to live out the rest of his days, as a muggle."

"But what about Azkaban? What about death?" Ron almost exploded. Only the glare of his sister managed to keep him in check. "That bugger killed Albus Dumbledore, the greatest Wizard of our time, almost as great as Merlin himself. And that bloody ferret killed him. He has to face his dues."

"It's too late." Hermione whispered. She was watching Draco as they released him, and handed him some papers. "The sentence is cast, no one can change it now." She watched as Draco correctly identified the wand he had used for so long. Before they broke it in his face.

"Good-bye, Draco Malfoy, do not return." The Speaker said to him. Draco took one last look at Hermione, anger, confusion, sorrow, joy, love, hurt, and forgiveness all emanating from that gaze.

But all she could feel from him was hate.

So, to make a long story shorter, here are the next eight-and-a-bit years:

Draco arrived in Georgia, where he was enrolled in a local high school. He took two years of high school, before attempting college. He graduated from his high school with top honors. Sure, he had to make a speech as Valedictorian and another as the soccer star, but he was good at it.

At college, he studied Culinary Arts, and dabbled in Creative Writing. He had no serious girlfriends, or any relationship for that manner. He lived on campus, and continued to be top in his class even while winning the soccer championship in his third, fourth, and fifth years of college.

In the time he spent as a poor college student, he…he changed for the better. The poverty society forced on him, even with his scholarships, forced him to become frugal, to beg. Draco learned the hard lessons of life. He was cursed, beaten, mugged; death had come closer to him then in college than it had while in Hogwarts.

Draco left college with two masters. He had a Masters in Culinary Arts, and a Masters in Creative Writing. If he had to right his wrongs, he meant to create, not destroy.

He opened a café in Boston, specializing in European Cuisine. He opened when he left college, and had owned, operated, and cooked there for over a year now. There, he lived as a changed man, and anyone from his past might call him good; though he was still as ruthless as ever when it came to his competition.

Hermione never married Ron. When he found out she suggested Wizarding Decree 253, he left her. It was only after that was it revealed he was delayed by some of his female fans. She went to Hecate Academy in Greece, where she studied even more magic.

She never fell in love again, in fact, Harry and Ginny suspected she almost toyed with men, drawing them in before letting them loose. Hermione was there for Harry and Ginny's wedding, and was there for every birth of her godchildren.

After four years of Hecate Academy she left with a Muggle and Wizarding Degree in Art and Cultural Studies. Both are considered masters. She went to Harry afterward, and asked for his permission to publicize his adventures. He gave in, if only to right some wrongs.

She wrote several books of their adventures under the pen name of J., and traveled the world, creating art and studying native cultures. The epilogue was completely false. She still had feelings for Ron.

Of course, while Draco changed for the better, She changed for the worse. While he had friends and a new life, she had no one, and turned cold. Even Harry and Ginny Potter, and their three children, could only melt her icy mask for so long.

You see Ron broke her heart when he found out what she did.

This story is true. This story is about eight years after the war, when Draco and Hermione fell in love with another. But, it all started with this pivotal trial.

This is their story, read on if you wish.

Time Stop: There it is, the prologue to our second fic.

Shadow: Even though I hate Harry Potter fanfiction, I have to say this is pretty good for my own work.

Wang: Yes! Now more to write!

Shadow: I mean, look at all of the excuses the authors have to twist the story to their own purpose.

Time Stop: Please review!

Wang: Come back to Chapter One!

Shadow: They have magic, potions, magical creatures, Merlin, wands-

Time Stop: That's enough, Shadow. I think they get it.

Shadow: -ancient spells, unforgivables, curses, hexes, cursed items, goblin craftsmanship, house-elf magic-

Wang: Agh! _tackles Shadow, sending them off the screen_

Time Stop: Stop it! Both of you!

Shadow: -vortexes in the space-time, time-turners, devious plants, floo powder, brooms-

Wang: Agh!


	2. Chapter 2

Time Stop: So, a quick chapter for you readers.

Shadow: Really quick.

Wang: I love this job!

Time Stop: We don't own anything.

Wang: But we do own a-

Shadow: Not that again!

Chapter One: Stubborn

Draco looked up from his desk. He had only closed the door and sat down when his Sous Chef barged in.

"Chef!" The thin man cried out. His French accent grated Draco's nerves, but he would stand it as long as it meant that he stayed. For young Phillipe was one of the best chefs in Boston.

"Yes, Phillipe, what is it now?" The other down fall of Phillipe was tendency to over react to everything.

"There is this bitch of a-"

Another thing, he had a mouth to make any sailor think twice before opening his mouth. But never to a customer. That was one thing Phillipe held in check. "What did I say about language! You know how I hate it when you swear in front of me."

"I'm sorry, Chef. But this…Madame, is refusing everything we have created!"

Draco sat up straight, almost standing from his chair. "What?"

"That is what I said, Chef. But I created everything for her myself, almost every delicacy we own. But she is not satisfied by anything."

Draco owned a café, a good one, one of the best in Boston. Specializing in European cuisine, it was a top-notch café, and could not afford this tragedy.

"What did you say?" Draco rose, standing to his full height.

"She said to create a final creation for her, and if she did not like it she would not pay."

"And?"

"I started on the only thing I haven't made yet, Chef. The-"

"I know the one. The last one on the menu."

"Yes, Chef. I said I shall make it myself."

"You can't do it."

"But Chef-"

"Phillipe, we both know you cannot create that. Your specialty is the Chocolate Raspberry."

"Yes, Chef. But I thought-"

"Did you make your specialty first?"

"Yes, Chef."

"Remember, Phillipe. If you cannot make it with your specialty, you cannot make it with anything else."

"Then what do I do, Chef?" Phillipe hung his head.

Draco raised his head. "Tell the customer that she may have anything on the wine list for free. Give it to her, whatever she asks. Tell her, that the Chef would create for her the last dish on the menu."

"Yes Chef. Do you want my assistance?"

"That will not be necessary. Take over the kitchen while I am engaged with this."

Draco rolled up his sleeves, and washed his hands in the sink, thoroughly killing anything that might have gotten on them since his last wash. He headed to his counter, made to his dimensions. It was time to create.

Hermione arrived in Boston early that morning. She had arrived at her hotel at about seven, and had asked about any good cafés. The hotel clerk recommended this place, on Seventh and Johnson. The _Café Lost_ was its name, with a depiction of a silver lake from the view on top of a hill. She could do better, if she wanted to. Despite the name, with its strange appeal, and the recommendations of the clerk, it was not living to her expectations. She had tried everything but the last dessert on the menu. Each one was continuously not to her standards. If they couldn't make anything right, then she should not pay their prices.

In the corner, stood a stage. On the stage were several musicians. Some were quietly warming up their instruments, while others were tuning silently. She was surprised at the variety of instruments. Ranging from guitars and clarinets, to marimbas and bagpipes. Even a pan flute was seen in the jumble. They either had talent, or were young, inexperienced men and women trying their trade.

Muggles, they should practice at home before they tried anything here.

"Madame," a man said. She turned from the instruments to the Sous Chef, the man behind all of the tasteless desserts.

"Yes?"

"I have been told to inform you that you may have any wine at all for free." The man's accent was grating on her nerves, it was nasal and high-pitched. If she wasn't in muggle company she would spell him into silence, but…rules are rules.

"Is that all?" She expected something more from this man. This café wasn't living up to its reputation.

"No, Madame. The Chef said he would create for you something himself."

"The Chef?"

"The owner of the café, Madame. Richard Rolfe himself will create for you a masterpiece."

The man turned, but Hermione stopped him with a hand. "You act as if he has never done that before."

"I'm sorry, Madame, but I do not follow."

"That he will create a masterpiece for me. Does he do it often?"

"Almost never."

"Then what can I expect from him?"

The man glanced about, before he leaned down to whisper into her ear. "He is creating the final dessert on the menu. This is his specialty. I have only tasted his food once, but it is something I will never forget."

As the man leaned back, she asked. "Why not?"

"Because the taste…it is pure magic, no one can make that so good." As she paused in thought, he took out his pad. "Would you like any wine, today?"

She glanced down at the menu, marking the different wines. Then she looked at the final item on the menu. "I shall have this one," she said, pointing to the wine.

"A fine choice, Madame. It will go perfectly with your dessert."

As the man went away, she stopped him with another question. "But chocolate and pumpkin?"

"Madame," the man said, his accent more nasal then ever. "You have to try it to believe it."

Hermione sat back, and watched the musicians again. They were louder now, and a sound guy had entered the _Café Lost_. Speakers had started to come up, and instruments tested on them. Sounds of music echoed throughout the café, and customers chatted quietly, watching them. Hermione noted the time, 10:00. It wasn't even noon and musicians already were starting their practice.

Live music, better be good. Hermione took a sip of her wine, nodding at the taste. This Richard Rolfe better have something good up his sleeve to impress her.

Draco looked up from his work. "Phillipe, where is that pie I made this morning?"

Phillipe came over to Draco's counter. "I'm getting it now, Chef." Draco had personally made the pie that morning, but now that his syrup was finishing, he needed it now. He glanced at the clock, 10:20. This should have been done about ten minutes ago, but the bloody chocolate was frozen solid. While it was thawed over the stove he had spoken to the frightened prep cook. He won't make that mistake again.

The pie arrived, landing on his counter with a graceful spin. Draco glanced at Phillipe as he almost danced through the kitchen, dodging orders and people as he sought to create order in the chaos. Draco whipped out a small knife from the drawer below the counter. With a sweep of his hands it went under hot water, and onto a towel. Another sweep and the clean, dry knife was poised over the pie.

Draco gently inserted the knife into the pie. He carefully cut out a good-sized wedge. He carefully arranged it onto the small plate. He then took his knife and cut himself another piece. With a few small cuts and the pie was broken into manageable mouthfuls. He placed a piece into his mouth. He spent a few seconds chewing, carefully testing the flavor. He then checked his chocolate. Dipping in a spoon, he tested that as well. He sighed. It would have to do.

As Draco carefully drizzled the chocolate onto the pie, he sighed again. The chocolate wasn't the way he wanted it, a bit too cool for his taste. The pie was also incomplete somehow. He would have to check up on it after hours. He wiped his hands, and handed the pie to Phillipe who was walking by. "Give this to the customer, do not return until she has given you her answer." Draco turned his back to his Sous Chef, focusing on one of his newer chefs.

"Jon," Draco called. The promising chef looked up.

"Yes, Chef?"

"You're cutting it wrong."

"But what do you mean? I've been cutting apples since I was four."

Draco took the knife from the boy, and cut the apple with precision. "Jon, you have a lot of talent, and great potential to open your own place one day. But if you don't put your heart and soul into your work, you will not succeed."

"But this is for a filling, how can I cut it for filling when people will only see the end results? This isn't like a decorating piece."

"But, practice makes perfect. A wise Chef once told me to make each cut, each slice, everything you do for the food as perfect as you can. If you do that, and try to feel what the customer wants, what you want, then you will succeed."

Draco cut each piece, studying the way the knife angled itself. "I…I think I understand."

"You will understand by the end of this week. Go to Wesley, and take over for him. Tell him to go here and do your job for this week. You will do his job as decorator and as assistant to Phillipe. At the end of the week I will judge if you understand what I told you. Understand?"

"Yes, Chef." The young man left, heading to Wesley carefully adding frosting to Phillipe's masterpiece.

Hermione eyed the plate as it was brought to her. It…it looked like a pumpkin cheesecake with chocolate drizzle. This was the Chef's best? They were not as good as she had thought. They didn't deserve this praise.

"Madame, your dessert." The Sous Chef said.

Hermione sighed, and picked up her fork. With a fell swoop of her utensil, she carved herself a piece of the cheesecake and placed it into her mouth. Her eyes opened in shock. She almost dropped the fork in her surprise. This, this was particularly good. It…it tasted like a pumpkin pasty, but the chocolate was akin to a chocolate frog. She bit down, and marveled at the texture on her tongue. This, this was truly spectacular. Her mind flashed with memories of Hogwarts, and the faces of her friends, Harry, Ginny, and Ron.

Ron.

Her eyes closed, as she tried to squeeze the memory of him out. Her eyes watered, but she pushed them back. The memory of that day, the day he broke up with her was still fresh in her mind. There wasn't a day that the memory wasn't remembered. It hurt so much to remember him.

"Are…are you alright, Madame?"

Hermione opened her eyes, regaining her composure. "Yes, everything is alright. I would like to speak with the Chef."

Phillipe started, shocked from what he was told. "Of course, just one second." He almost tripped from his quick departure. Hermione took another mouthful. Whoever had made this was good at what they did. This Richard Rolfe might earn her respect after all. The _Café Lost _might earn her respect after all.

Draco was almost knocked down when Phillipe crashed through the door of his office for the second time that day. "Chef, she, that Madame, she is calling for you."

Draco stood, and set aside his chef's hat. "Point me her table. Then take over the kitchen. Jon will be your assistant this week. Wesley will take over Prep."

Draco followed Phillipe to the dining area. "Why, Chef?"

"Jon needs to learn to put his own into a work."

"Ah." Phillipe pointed to the seat in the corner, furthest from the door and close to the stage. "There, Chef. She is the one there."

Draco turned to follow his had, and almost stopped in his tracks. With cough, he cleared his throat, and started toward the woman. Some of his regular customers greeted him as he passed by, and he answered back, but he could tell it was half-heartedly. For his eyes never left that woman in the corner.

She glanced up at him, when he was halfway to her. Their eyes met. Draco almost lost himself in those chocolate honey orbs. The way she brushed her hair back behind her ear. Despite she was having a bad hair day, those strands reflected the morning sun, seeming to Draco that she had sported a frazzled, auburn halo. In short, she was beautiful.

He stopped himself before he managed to walk into a wall, or someone else. "Yes, Miss? You have called for me?"

She looked up at him. "Yes, yes I did." She said distractingly. Her accent, it was unique, and Draco could have sworn he heard it before. "Are you Richard Rolfe?"

"Yes I am." Draco gestured to the seat across from her. "May I?"

She glanced at the empty chair. "Of course, be my guest."

Draco sat himself down, and almost cursed himself aloud. He forgot how small those tables were, and he could almost feel her legs beneath the table. He leaned back, relaxing against the chair. "So, you have called me here about my pie."

"Yes, yes I have."

Draco cursed under his breath, a soft _Bloody Hell._ He knew that pie wasn't up to snuff. "If there is anything wrong at all-"

"Oh! No, that isn't why I called you here." She interrupted.

"It isn't?"

"No, I called you here to tell you something." She shifted slightly in her seat, and she took another bite from her pie. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't so sure your café could deliver."

"Oh?"

"This place has good reviews, but frankly the other items on the menu wasn't so good. It wasn't until you made me this when I was satisfied."

Draco smiled a small smile. He had done it again. He still had the touch. And he finally remembered where he had heard that accent before, it was British.

"You are a really good chef. I just wanted to thank you."

She looked up from the musicians. She looked over to the kitchen door, and saw the Sous Chef pointing her out, before scurrying back into the kitchen. Then she saw him. He was tall; she could guess that from the fact he stood taller than Phillipe who was an average height.

He had long, blonde hair that was tied into a ponytail. It wasn't a bright, beach blonde, nor a platinum blonde. It was more of a dirty blonde, or a brunette with blonde highlights. He wasn't tanned, nor was he pale. He just was…perfect.

"Yes, Miss? You have called for me?" His voice, it was a distinct accent. One she had heard before and had recognized almost immediately. He was British, or spent some time in Britain.

She looked up at him. "Yes, yes I did." She said distractingly. She mentally berated herself for being distracted by his looks. He wasn't all that, Ron was better looking, wasn't he? "Are you Richard Rolfe?" She asked.

"Yes I am." Richard gestured to the seat across from her. "May I?"

She glanced at the empty chair. "Of course, be my guest." Now he was sitting across from her? This was getting a little uncomfortable. As he sat, he fidgeted a little, before he relaxed. She could almost feel him under the table. She heard him mutter under his breath, but it was too soft for her to hear.

"So, you have called me here about my pie." He stated.

"Yes, yes I have."

She heard him this time. A _Bloody Hell _was easily recognizable. Did he think his work was bad? "If there is anything wrong at all-"

"Oh! No, that isn't why I called you here." She interrupted. No, in truth, it was perfect.

"It isn't?"

"No, I called you here to tell you something." She shifted slightly in her seat, and she took another bite from her pie. She shivered slightly as she did so, the pie erupting an earthful of flavors to great to fully comprehend. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't so sure your café could deliver."

"Oh?"

"This place has good reviews, but frankly the other items on the menu wasn't so good. It wasn't until you made me this when I was satisfied."

He smiled then, and she did to. He…he was cocky, or close to it. And she had made him worry. Good.

"You are a really good chef. I just wanted to thank you."

"Oh no." He tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Thank you."

"I-I'm staying for a couple of days. I might drop by and visit again."

"You're welcome anytime."

"Just as long you make that pie again." She stood, with him almost on her heels. "It was good meeting you."

"Come back tonight. We have some original artists singing their poetry tonight. All of them are good. It was good talking to you, Miss-"

"Sorry, where's my manners? Hermione Granger."

Was it her imagination, or did he freeze when she said that? "Miss-Miss Granger. I'll see you later."

He shook her hand, and she left. She turned back when she had left the café, and saw him still standing there, staring at the door.

Draco had to be roused almost twenty minutes later. But even after that he was distracted.

At around three in the afternoon, Draco was sitting in his office, and was laughing. How in Merlin did he do it? He was actually attracted to Hermione Granger. And he wouldn't even recognize her if it wasn't for her name. How ironic it was, that she had exiled him, and now she had found him again.

Time Stop: There you go, another chapter.

Shadow: Tell us how you feel, send us a review.

Wang: Thanks for reading, come back soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Time Stop: Hi.

Wang: We wrote this!

Shadow: Wang, I think they know that already.

Wang: I'm happy!

Time Stop: We don't own Harry Potter.

Wang: Aw, nuts.

Chapter Two: Late

Hermione returned to her room at the hotel. Her eyes roamed the room, marking the bed in the far corner. That last ordeal with Richard Rolfe had left her tired, overly tired. She glanced at her bags, still tucked away in the corner. Then she looked back at the bags. It wasn't a hard choice.

She flopped down on the bed, turning off the light. The curtain across the way was open, and a crack of light fell into the room onto her bed. With the light in her eyes, Hermione turned to the side, and reached for one of her bags. She tried vainly for a while.

She snorted softly. Waving her hand, her bag opened and a sketchpad and a pencil came into her hand. Thank Merlin for wandless and wordless magic. She opened the pad to a fresh page, and put the pencil to the paper.

Outside, a car honked, and revved away. She paused, the pencil hovering over the paper. She closed her eyes, and started to draw. She often did this. For when she was tranced before sleep, in that sleepless hour when her mind wanders, she draws the best. Aimlessly, her mind wandered, and her mind slowly closed. But her hand still made random scratches on the paper. After a few hours, the paper turned to a new page.

Hours passed, and Hermione woke with a sudden start. The sketchpad hit the ground, the pencil flying across the room. The light no longer hit her face; it was almost pitch black in the room. Hermione reached over, and turned on the light, yelping softly as the light blinded her. She made her way to the bathroom, and washed her face.

Drying her face with a towel, she left the bathroom, and sat down on the bed. She picked up the sketchpad, and dropped it when she saw what she drew. On the current page, was a very lifelike drawing of Ronald Weasley. The drawing moved, or, at least the face. It moved from expressions of love, joy, hate, and scorn.

Hermione ripped the page from the pad. "Ron," she whispered. "Why?" She didn't throw it away, but left it there on the desk. As she put away the pad in its home in her backpack, she noticed something.

"I could have sworn I was on the tenth page, not the eleventh." She opened the pad, and skimmed the pages. Her previous sketches were all there, all of them drawn or half-formed from her sleep-like trance. Then she found a new drawing.

It could only be described as a rough sketch. She could make out a large group of willow trees against the far…was that a shore? Of a lake? The lake was surrounded by willow trees in the back, and reeds covered the banks. Larger trees, or what type she Hermione couldn't be certain, surrounded the lake.

It was night, for the sky was shaded in furiously, leaving in a full moon and some stars to shine the scene. The lake was so peaceful and it reflected the sky. But something was missing, Hermione could tell. This would have only taken her an hour at most, but it wasn't too detailed. That left the question, how long did she spend on it?

She found some interesting dots in the bottom left corner of the pad. They were numerous, and they were everything from light taps to harsh dark stabs. She recognized as not part of the work, for she only did that if something was bothering her.

"This, this is good." Hermione said. "I can work with this." She waved her hand and a box of colored pencils flew out. She sat down at the desk, with a fresh piece of paper. She placed the pencil to the paper, and slowly scratched onto the page.

A couple of hours later, and Hermione stepped back from the paper. Upon it was etched the scene, the same as the sketch, though finely detailed and better drawn. Hermione smiled. If she remembered to us magic while she drew then it would move, but now it almost looked like it was.

She turned, and stretched her back as she went to the bathroom. When she returned she glanced at the clock. She jumped in fright. "Merlin! How is it eleven at night?" Hermione grabbed the paper and colored pencils and stuffed them in her satchel. Running out the door, still dressed from earlier with her hair more askew than ever, she raced down the stairs.

She ran down the streets, not caring if someone looked out their window and saw her. She ran down the streets, and saw the sign in the distance. Out front, a man was fiddling with the door. The _Café Lost _was dark and barren. She recognized him immediately, for how could she not?

Her only question was why did she recognize him, and only by his back.

"Richard!"

Draco waited in his office. It was about ten, twelve hours since he had first met her. He glanced up as Phillipe passed his door. But he didn't stop, only bark out more orders for the rest of the kitchen staff. He sighed, and put his head on his desk. He turned his head slightly, and glanced at his clock.

He hadn't seen her in twelve hours and four minutes.

Merlin, was he counting the time? Draco stood, twisting his back to relieve the tension. After a loud, satisfying crack, he winced slightly. Merlin, that was hurting more and more these days.

He left the kitchen, and listened to the last few poets. The café was closing up; it was already almost empty anyway. Draco returned to the kitchen, and worked side by side with the cleaning crew. They finished in a half hour.

Draco ushered everyone home for the night. He was alone in the café. Picking up a broom, he finished sweeping, taking his time. By the time he finished sweeping, it was almost eleven. Then he mopped up quickly.

He sat down on the chair in his office. It was about eleven o five. It was time for him to leave, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to go.

"Damn." Draco swore when he took off his clothes. He put his apron on the hook on his office door. "Bloody hell." He swore again when he put on his watch and his put his keys in his pocket.

"Dammit, Granger." Draco muttered to himself. He left his office and locked the café back door. "Damn myself." He muttered. "Why am I so worked up over Granger?"

He stepped outside the café, and stuck the key in the lock. "I mean, why did I look forward for her? She never had an effect on me before. Was it only because now I see her for what she truly is?"Draco hung his head, the key still in the lock.

"Do I tell her who I am?" Draco whispered. A single solitary tear fell onto his hand. "I…I…"Draco locked the café. "I don't know what to do next."

Draco put the key back in his pocket. Then he sighed and clenched his fist. "Richard!"

Draco turned quickly, looking over at her. It was her, running towards him, a satchel-like purse bouncing on her hip. His heart sped up, but it was quenched when he realized that she was late. Why? He waited all night for her.

Hermione stopped in front of him, almost falling from her sudden stop. Draco held out his hand, and caught her. "Miss. Granger, I..I didn't think that you would come."

Hermione blushed. "Sorry, I was a little carried away." She tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, but it fell back down.

Draco smiled. She…she truly had an effect on him. "Um, I closed shop, you missed a good night of performances."

"I wish I could have been there, I was just so busy drawing and stuff."

Draco shrugged. "But you're staying in town for a couple of nights, right?"

"Mhm." Hermione nodded. "I don't know how long, but I am staying for a couple of nights."

"Then you can come by tomorrow, unless you are too busy drawing and stuff." Draco teased.

"No, no. I'll be there when it starts and when it ends." Hermione promised.

"So,"Draco said, leaning against the side of the café. "Do you have plans?"

"Excuse me?"

Draco mentally slapped himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out that way. I-"

"No," Hermione said. She looked him in the eyes, and almost lost herself in those gray orbs. "I don't have plans."

Drao smiled. "Do you want something to eat?"

Hermione shook her head, but the large, bear-like rumble from her stomach proved her false.

Draco smiled. Hermione was getting to him, and he was letting her, and he didn't care about it in the slightest. "Want me to make you something?"He asked.

"Yeah."

"Come on, I know the perfect recipe for a night like this."

"Where?"

"My house." Draco walked past her, only to have Hermione run to catch up. He lowered his pace t match hers, and they walked side by side for a while. About halfway to his house, Hermione stuck her arm around his, drawing herself close to him.

With her leaning on his arm, alarms went off in Draco's head. But he shut them down. He was perfectly happy like this. It felt so natural. It was if they had known each other for years, but with love instead of hate.

Hermione relaxed, leaning against Richard's arm. Though, inwardly, her mind was all a whir. Why had she accepted Richard's invitation to his home? Why was she so close to him? And so fast?

Hermione stopped when he stopped, in front of a two-story house close to the outskirts of Boston. The white walls of the home reminded her of the old, classic southern style homes she read in those books she used to read.

In fact, it was exactly like a southern home. A large, wraparound porch, a white picket fence, with a tall chimney sticking up put of the top. But inside the dark windows, the house did seem to emit a sense of foreboding, despite the cheeriness of the outside.

"You live here?" She asked.

Richard nodded. "Yeah. When my father died I inherited a lot of money, and that helped me to build this." But while his voice spoke one things, his mind spoke another.

"What is it? You seem, angry."

Richard sighed. He led the way to the front porch. "My dad was imprisoned a long time ago maybe about seven years. He…I don't know if he is dead or not, I haven't heard. But, I received my inheritance despite that about a year ago."

Richard opened the door, letting Hermione in first. "That's when I had this place custom built, and my café started."

Hermione squinted when Richard turned on the lights. Inside the mahogany floor, and the deep red walls, the very air of home could be felt. He led her to a modern kitchen, and she sat down at the small island in the center. He went to the fridge, and then to the pantry, and the cupboards. With practiced skill, he began to move his arms in a blur, cracking open eggs and mixing ingredients together. Already a pan stood on the stove, oil sizzling away.

"This place is beautiful."

"Thank you." Richard poured the mixture into the pan. "So, what do you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why are you here in Boston. Why?"

Hermione shifted in her seat. This conversation was not going right. She did have a reason for being here, but it was for her and her alone.

"Have you ever heard of Rain Petals?"

Richard thought about it for a second, absentmindedly cooking the omelets. "Yes, I've seen it before as well. A beautiful painting, I particularly loved the way the water splashed off the petals as the fell. Not named, though, no one took the credit."

Hermione dug out her picture, and placed it before him. Taking out another piece of paper, she furiously started to scratch the paper with her pencils.

Richard plated the food, and set it next to her on the table. He didn't take his eyes of the drawing she started to draw. Hermione checked her memory, and added a few more marks.

"There." She said, putting the paper in front of him. Upon it was the picture he had described, to almost perfect exactness, Rain Petals.

"You did this?"

"I'm here for inspiration." Hermione lied. "I wanted to do some ocean scenes, so I decided to come to Boston."

"But why here?"

"Why not?" Hermione took a bite of her eggs, and marveled at the taste. She closed her eyes in pleasure, she would never get tired eating what he cooked. "I guess I just wanted to visit Boston."

Her true reasons for coming her she thought of, but she pushed it away. This was something that didn't concern a muggle. But, while looking on him, her heart started to tell her that something was different about this muggle.

Richard looked down at the other piece of paper. His eyes widened at the work of art, taking in the detail. "This is good." He said, turning the paper to catch the light differently.

"Thank you."

"Is it new?"

"Yes, I started when I woke up. That's why I was late."

Richard nodded slowly. "This is good. It…it reminds me of my sign."

She blushed. How had he seen that so quickly? And how did she didn't see it until now? She took another bite, mulling over what he said as he left the room. Her hands reached out absently, looking for her glass. Her hand bumped into something warm, and she looked at it.

Richard's hand held a glass, his own the table, and it was filled by white wine.

"Thank you." Hermione said. She drank then waited as Richard filled her glass again. "As for your statement, I used your sign as inspiration. I don't have any thought of using it without your permission."

Richard held his hands up in defense. "Go ahead, I didn't think of that. I just wanted to know if you did or not."

Hermione put the paper back in her satchel-purse. "Besides, it's not done yet. I'm missing something."They finished their food in silence.

They finished, and Richard placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. The retired to the room hat could only be described as a library, though Hermione could find no trace of a living room.

After many glasses of wine and hours staring into the fireplace, the tension was tangible enough to cut it was a breath. Hermione often found herself staring at Richard, but she had to pull her eyes away. Several times she thought he was looking at her, but she never caught him in the act.

It was a long time later, and the wine was completely gone. In fact, they spent the entire night drinking away the time. With a bottles apiece later, and Hermione let out a loud yawn.

"Come on,"Richard stood, wobbling slightly. He held out a hand to her. "I'll show you where you can sleep for the night."

Hermione giggled. Inwardly, her mind was shouting at her to get a grip. The last time she lost this much control was too long ago. But her instincts and her heart led the way, and reason took the backseat.

"Do you know you look bloody hot?" Hermione took his hand, but fell. Richard bent, and scooped her up into his arms, holding her there.

Richard laughed. "No I did not. Come on, you need to get to sleep." He carried her up the stairs to the guest bedroom.

"But you are so bloody hot for a muggle." She giggled. "Hic!"

Richard shook his head. "I'm not a muggle. I'm a outcast wizard." His cheeks reddened, but Hermione missed it.

"You are ssoo hot!" Hermione crooned.

Richard put her on the bed, and covered her in the sheets. "This isn't supposed to happen. Me and you, we don't belong."

Hermione continued without hearing him…again. "Richard, are you single?"

"Erm, we'll talk in the morning." Richard tried to leave, but her hand darted out and snagged his arm.

"Stay," she ordered. She wasn't that drunk sounding anymore. She was totally sober for that word.

"You don't want me to."

"I do," she said, still sober. "I wouldn't say this unless I was completely sure."

"Hermione, you are not in your right mind."

Hermione pouted. Her mind screamed at her as all caution was thrown to the wind. "Richard, I love you!" She screamed. She giggled. "So stay, okay?"

Richard stood torn for a second. For a very long second. "Bloody hell." Richard muttered, clicking the lights off with a frustrated slap. "I'm going to regret this."

Hermione molded herself against Richard. Their bodies fit perfectly. "I love you." She whispered.

"I love you too, Hermione." Richard whispered back.

They kissed, and made love together in the dieing moonlight.

He stayed awake long after their love-making. He stared into the distance, while the sun slowly rose over the horizon. Looking down, he saw her asleep. While asleep, she looked more beautiful than ever, if it was possible.

"Merlin." Draco whispered. He leaned back until her was lying down next to her. She wrapped an arm around him, and he put his hands behind his head. "Merlin, what have I done?"

He looked down on the sleeping beauty. "Merlin, what have I done?"

Shadow: There, Chapter two.

Wang: Yay!

Time Stop: Please review, we really mean it. Please review, or…or…or we'll-

Wang: Do something drastic!

Shadow: Yeah, like make a tragedy out of it.

Time Stop: What!

Wang: Review!

Shadow: Please!


	4. Chapter 4

Time Stop: So, we have decided something.

Shadow: We'll finish this first, then return to our other fic.

Wang: Yes!

Time Stop: We don't own Harry Potter

Chapter Three: Sun

Draco didn't sleep that night. He stayed awake all night watching her. At dawn, when the sun peaked into their room, Draco left. First off, he closed the blinds. Then, laying out a pair of pants and a t-shirt, Draco took her clothes and threw them into the washer.

"Merlin, what have I done?" Draco muttered again. He set out a tall glass of water for her on the nightstand, a couple of aspirins as well. "What have I done?" It became a mantra for him. Why had he done it?

Draco went about his daily morning exercises, before checking his email. Scanning down the list, he crossed Phillipe's name. Sighing, he opened it.

"Chef," Draco read aloud. "Since tomorrow is our day of0f, the rest of the staff has planned a party down at the beach. We wanted to invite you last night, but Frank was out sick that day, and he could not be there to remind me. And, if you are reading this it means we forgot to ask you tonight as well. So, it is better late than never. Chef, you are invited to our fun in the sun (terrible name, but Frank insisted upon it, that son of a - sorry Chef) down at the beach. We are about an hour north of Boston, by those rocks Mary almost fell off from last year.

"So, if you could come on down by noon, we're going to have a picnic down by the shore. Frank said something about volleyball, and a couple of the guys are thinking about Ultimate Frisbee or some sort of American sport."

Draco's eyes furrowed as he finished the email. "And bring your bathing suit, something tells me that there might be a water war."

The rest of the letter ended with a paragraph or two on American pastimes, and about the lack of cultural flavor. Signed Phillipe. Draco closed the email, knowing it would be pointless to respond.

He scanned his email address again. His mouse stopped on one that was different from the usual spam or business emails. Opening it he read it silently. Then he read it again, his eyes bugged out. Slowly he returned to the top of the email. It wasn't long, only a couple sentences, but it still shocked him to the core.

Draco swallowed against the lump in his throat. It couldn't be. It was impossible. And yet, and yet he did it. Something about it was good enough for them. He reread the work. His eyes bugged out even more, sweat almost dripped from his brow. He had to make another one? By the fifteenth?

Draco checked the calendar. "That leaves me only ten days. Merlin, how do I get into this?" Draco slumped in his chair. "But they accepted me. They accepted me. I…I need an idea. I need something. Should I continue-no! Something original. If they wanted me to continue with it they would have told me."

Draco glanced at the clock. "It's about six now. If I start breakfast in an hour that gives me an hour to get something down. Yes, I'll do that." Draco set to work, glancing at the clock every so often to check his time.

His work wasn't that hard, but it was taking too long. By his calculations, his idea should have been fully formed by now. But now, a good way into the process, he wasn't much further than he was in the beginning.

He had to get further, he had to. His mind raced, ignoring all else save for the words in front of him, the deadline. But something told him he wasn't completely into his work. Something told him his heart and mind were focusing on someone else.

Hermione opened her eyes, groaning in pain. "That is the last time I drink, ever." She promised. She stumbled up, and blindly walked about the room. After opening the blinds and yelping in pain, she found what she was looking for. Rinsing her head in the sink, she cleared her eyes and her mind a bit, from the sleep.

Going back into the room, she glanced about, and found the water and the aspirin. Taking the pills, she downed the water, cleansing her mouth from the dry, tackiness that had taken home there.

"Never, ever will I drink again." Hermione promised. She sighed, flopping back into the bed with a dull thud. "Why can't I ever remember I have a weak stomach?" She closed her eyes, resting there for a bit.

Then she noticed she was naked.

Hermione almost jumped five feet in the air. "Where are my clothes?" She asked no one. Her eyes scanned the unfamiliar room. Taking the sheets, she draped them over herself in a makeshift robe.

"I…I remember the fire, and drinking wine." She mused aloud. She sat back down on the bed, only noticing then that she had gotten up. "I…I remember…remember." Images flashed before her eyes, of Richard, and of the love they made the night before.

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione cried; a few tears escaped her eyes. "Merlin please tell me it was a bad dream."She sighed again. "Merlin tell me that was a dream." She repeated.

Facing the curtain, she steeled herself for the blinding light. "I have to find my clothes," she told herself as she stood and pushed the curtains out of the way.

Light hit her eyes, and she cried out in pain. But soon, her eyes adjusted, and she looked around the room. On the bed, on the far edge, laid an overly large t-shirt and a pair of pants. On the pants, a belt hung.

Hermione almost smiled. Richard, he was a true gentleman. But, images of Ron flashed through her head. She shook her head violently, before putting on the clothes. No! Why was Ron in her head? Why was Richard in her thoughts? Why?

She had to stretch the belt as far as it would go, before tying it shut. The shirt hung off her like a sheet, and the pants hung low even with the belt's help. "Richard…was it?"

She turned around looking in the mirror. "Why does he have this effect on me?" She asked aloud. "And why do I look good in his clothes?" She opened the door, and the flagrant smell of cooking food tickled her nose. "I…I love Ron." She declared into the empty hall. "I love him, even if he doesn't love me."

She went down the stairs, and stood at the bottom. She watched Richard for a while. He was moving about in the kitchen, but he was muttering to himself. His hair, tied into a ponytail, was half undone. His eyes glanced about looking for something, but ever did his lips move silently.

Hermione was about to enter the kitchen, when light caught her eye. She looked back into the library. Aside from the smoldering ashes, the light came from an old, familiar device.

"A computer? I haven't seen one of these in ages." Hermione whispered. She knew she shouldn't but she entered the library and headed towards the machine.

She moved the mouse a tad, and watched as the screen saver popped out of view. Two tabs she could read on the bottom. A saved word program only labeled as Mock 1. The other tab went into his email address. It was also the one that was open.

The email that was displayed was bright, and seemed to draw her in. Hermione knew she shouldn't be there, but every bone in her body seemed to be working against her. She went to the beginning of the email. It wasn't long, but only a couple of sentences.

"Mr. Rolfe," she read, "We are pleased to inform you that we absolutely love your novel, Dark Signs, Brighter Hopes. But, the editors need to know that you can produce more. We want you to write for us a novel, or the beginning of one, by Tuesday the fifteenth. Deliver and we can help you further."

Hermione left the computer. "Richard, writes?"

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" Hermione turned around. Richard stood there, hands hanging down, still dripping with water.

"I'm sorry!" She blurted. "I haven't seen a computer in ages, and I just wanted to look at it." Wait, did she just she didn't see a computer in a while? She was going to get caught! Richard, he isn't the dullest blade in the box, he would certainly catch her.

Richard sighed. "Did you read the email."

"Yes," she gulped. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have but I-"

"Don't worry about it." Richard took down a stack of papers from the shelf, blowing off stray dust bunnies. "This is it, my novel."

Hermione hefted the pages as he have it to her; it was about a couple hundred pages. She read a few sentences, and then forced herself to stop. If she read anymore, she would be forced to continue. She glanced at Richard, or where he should be. But he was gone.

She placed the papers on the desk, and followed him into the kitchen. On the table stood two plates, and in between them were plates of food. She watched as he platted for her pancakes, hash browns, and sausage. On another small plate, buttered toast already sat.

She sat down, speechless. He turned to the stove, and retrieved a kettle. He tipped it gently, letting the dark liquid to fall into her cup. She raised it to her lips, and sighed in pleasure. Tea, actual British tea! She moaned in delight as she drank the liquid, burning herself on the hot drink.

"You didn't have to do this."

"I know."

They ate in silence. She felt so awkward there, eating across from a man whom she had invaded his privacy. The silence stretched, and Hermione could feel herself warm under his glancing gaze. She had to break the silence, even if it was to ask the question whose answer she already knew.

"Did we-" she started, frightening herself a bit with the sudden noise. "Did we," she asked softly. "Did we have sex last night?"

Richard put down his fork. He gently rubbed his eyes. "Do you want the truth, or something to make you feel better?"

Hermione looked at him. Who was he? Richard surprised her more and more every minute. What was he doing? No one could be that perfect. No one. Only Ron could be that perfect. But Ron…Ron was gone, being perfect with someone else. Richard, he couldn't be perfect. He couldn't. Only Ron could be perfect.

"Tell me truth. Being told anything otherwise isn't going to help."

"We had sex - made love - last night." Richard answered.

"Why did you force me?" Hermione accused. She would never have sex, not until marriage. That was one of the rules she followed by. She would never have sex unless it was with her husband.

"You told me to stay. I tried to leave, but even while drunk you said so completely sober that you wanted me to stay."

She blushed. Now she remembered, how Richard was trying to leave, but she told him to stay. She had initiated the love-making when he got into the bed. Even then he tried not to do it until he had succumbed to lust.

Or love. A voice no unlike hers spoke to her.

No. I would never do that. She told herself. I love Ron. I was drunk!

No! The voice spoke back, doing an uncanny impression of the tone she used on Harry and Ron back in Hogwarts. No! You were sober. You don't remember much, but you remember calling him to your bed. You said you wouldn't, not unless it was love or marriage.

She blushed horribly, across the table, Richard raised an eyebrow in surprise. I don't love him! She scolded. I love Ron!

Suit yourself. The voice answered. But you'll regret it in the end.

"Are you alright?"

"What! No, I'm all right." She answered. "I'm um…" she trailed off.

"Um, there is a beach party going on today." Richard interjected. His tone seemed rushed for Hermione, but she reasoned by the topic they had just covered. "It's sort of an annual thing the rest of the employees throw. They invited me, and I was wondering if you could join me."

"Um…what time?"

"Around noon. It'll take an hour to get there."

"I need to go to my hotel room."

Richard nodded. "I understand. I'll drive you there."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I didn't see a car when I walked in."

"Who said it was a car?"

So, while Hermione found her shoes, Richard grabbed his keys and such. In five minutes, she was holding onto him as he flew down the road on his motorcycle. Fifteen minutes later and she was in front of her hotel.

"I'll pick you up at eleven?"

She nodded, her legs shaking slightly. "I'll see you then."

"Bye."

"Bye."

He was about to leave when he stopped. "I should have done this a long time ago." He muttered aloud. He bent down, and kissed her on the lips, stunning her. "Hermione, wanted you to know I wouldn't have done it either if I wasn't in love."

He went back on his back. "See you at eleven." He drove away, leaving Hermione to sag to the ground. Still dressed in his clothes, with a terrible night's sleep, and a strange fluttering feeling in her heart, she was flabbergasted.

She had to purposely stand up, holding onto the wall for support. "Merlin, what is he? What is happening to me?"

Draco arrived home not long later. All the while muttering to himself. It was his new novel. He had to figure out the plot of this new one. He muttered details and dialogue while he put her clothes into the dryer. He did the same while putting the dishes in the dishwasher. He muttered to himself while he took a shower, and made a pasta salad for the party later on. He muttered to himself as he started to type.

Half focused, he wrote until he could write no more. When he was done, he glanced at the work. It was all right, but going on as he read, the plot he had chosen diverged into something else entirely. Until he finally realized it was his life. Draco grabbed the passages he had written, ready to delete.

Then he saw her name.

Written about half-way down the page he had written _Hermione_. Draco stopped his finger, and read silently the rest of the sentence. _Hermione, I love you_. Draco shook his head. She was getting to him, to the very core. He read on, and his eyes widened so much that he was afraid the would pass as platters without much more help. _I need to tell you something, I am Draco Malfoy. I love you_.

"What?" Draco murmured. "When did I write this?" He read the surrounding paragraphs, but no mention of Hermione or his love remained outside those three sentences.

"Merlin, what do I tell her?" He sighed. He slouched low in his chair. "What do I tell her now? I told her the truth. Why did I do that? She would have thought it a bad dream unless I told her otherwise. And why did I invite her to the bloody beach party anyways? I wouldn't have gone normally. And the way she touched me while she rode behind me."

Draco sighed deeply, remembering how her simple touch excited him more than he thought it ever could. "And why did I kiss her? 'I should have done this a long time ago.'? What was I thinking, saying that aloud? She heard me for Merlin's sake. She's going to figure it out."

Draco stood and stretched. He headed upstairs, where he put on his trunks and a white t-shirt. "I mean," he said to no one. "I mean that she isn't dumb. What did I mean when I said I should have done that a long time ago? And what was that about love? I…I do love Hermione, more than I think I will ever know. But how!"

Draco punched a pillow. His mind raced back in time. "When did I first start to love her?

"Did it start back in first year? Before I realized she was a mudblood. Merlin, I don't even like that word anymore. It seems foreign to me, evil to me. I wish I had never known my father, and his selfish ways. Could it have been in second year, when she was petrified by the basilisk? Was it in third year when she returned from saving Black, looking like a beautiful warrior princess? It was probably fourth year, when she danced in Krum's arms. And when she cried, I remember paying extra attention to Weasley after that.

"No, it was fifth year, when she was caught in my arms with the inquisitorial squad. Maybe sixth year, when she fought for her life. Merlin, I even remember her expression as she fought of Goyle. Seventh year, when she came back from her adventures in the forest in my manor, she was still beautiful. I think I shed a tear – no – I know I shed a tear when Bellatrix tortured her. And at Hogwarts, when she looked at me with…pity? Was it pity?"

Draco ran his hands through his hair. Moving his feet, he started down the stairs to the basement to retrieve her clothes. "No, it was at the trial, when she let me live. God! She must think I am such a prick. She doesn't love me at all. She loves Richard. But when I asked her if she wanted the truth, or something to keep her happy, she chose the truth. Should I tell her who I am?

Dammit! I wish I knew the right course! The sooner I tell her, the easier it will be on her. But I can't." Tears of shame dripped down his face. "I love her too much to tell her the truth. If she leaves, my heart might tear in two."

Draco punched the clothes hamper. When had he gotten downstairs? He packed her clothes into a bag. "I…I have to tell her. Tonight, before either one of us leaves the beach party. I have to tell her then. I-I don't want to do it. But I must. Even if it kills me."

Draco placed the macaroni salad and the clothes in the small storage space hanging on the back of his bike. Then, after tying his hair into a ponytail, he put on his helmet. Buckling his nerves, he rode off. He had to pick up Hermione, and he was going to be late.

Oh, screw life.

She waited outside. She was dressed in Draco's clothes still, but she had one of her belts. Even then, his pants hung low on her waist. Temptingly too low for him. Draco shook his slightly as she climbed aboard.

"You're late."

"I'm sorry, I just needed to wait for your clothes to dry. They're in the storage space on the back of the bike." Draco said. He handed her a helmet, and she stuck her head inside it.

"So, are you ready?" He asked.

"Yes." Draco revved the engine, and started off. As he made a sharp u-turn, she squealed slightly. She wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him tight.

"You alright?" He called over his shoulder. He felt her head rest onto his back.

"Yes, I'm alright." She answered.

When Richard made that turn, she was sincerely frightened. It had reminded her of the time Harry and Ron tried to make her ride a broom. She still had nightmares about that. But, riding on a motorcycle, she was all right. It was exactly like a broom, but on the ground.

"You alright?" Richard asked her.

Hermione rested her head on his back. This was nice, having someone worrying over her. Richard was someone she could trust, someone she could depend on.

"Yes, I'm alright." She answered. She closed her eyes, and imagined it was only the two of them, riding away into the sunset.

She almost sat upright, but another sharp turn made her hold on tighter. Ride into the sunset? That sort of fantasy was reserved for Ron. Ron…

Her eyes watered. Ron was the only one to be there for her. And she was with someone else. What was she? She was a terrible person! She didn't deserve to live without the love of her life, Ron!

"I hope you brought your bathing suit." Richard broke the silence. The city was behind them, and the open road ahead. "Phillipe warned me that there would be something to do with water today."

Hermione smiled. "I did. What do you think I'm wearing under your clothes?"

Richard half turned his head, smiling widely. "I hope it's your bathing suit, I would hate to miss you wearing it."

Hermione blushed a deep red. But she was happy that Richard couldn't see her face. Richard, he was perfect. She would have to tell him she loved him. The ache of Ron reappeared, but she forced it down. Ron, he had to take a backseat for now. What he doesn't know wouldn't hurt him.

The party was fun. Hermione had fun. And watching Richard as he relaxed with his employees was also good to see. She had so much fun. Playing Ultimate Frisbee with the girls while the boys played Volleyball. She was having so much fun. Even the water war would surprise her and excite her. And, she loved seeing Richard coated in water, his white t-shirt showing off his abs. Oh, she could sleep on those abs forever.

Unlike her, Draco was having fun, but his mind was wandering. So, while playing Volleyball he was distracted, and even when he was in the water war he was distracted. But he could admit that was more by the fact Hermione wore a perfect bikini during it. That only made him distracted more. Luckily, Phillipe and everyone told him to stop worrying about the Café. But that wasn't why he was distracted. He had to find a way to tell Hermione the truth, even if it killed him.

Draco grabbed Hermione's hand. "Come on, I got to show you something." He tugged her away from the rest of the group. They didn't notice as they walked off, for it was getting late. He led her down a stretch of beach behind some large rocks, away from the group.

"Richard, I want to thank you for such a good day." Hermione said.

"You're welcome." His reply was cut short when she kissed him gently on the lips.

"Richard, I was thinking a lot about what you said. I love you. I love you a lot." Hermione promised. "Richard, I love you and nothing will ever change that."

Draco let out a frustrated sigh. "Hermione, I…I…I…Argh!" Draco stormed off, Hermione watching as he did so. "Merlin! How does this happen to me! How can it always be me my life is ruined! How can I tell her who I am?"

"Richard, I know who you are. You're Richard."

"No! Don't you understand? I am someone you hate!" Draco whirled around, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "You want the know the truth, you've always wanted the truth, as far as I have remembered."

Hermione's eyes opened wide, as Draco took off his shirt. Scars, about half a dozen of them, marked his chest. "These are the remains of Potter's curse on me back in sixth year." He shouted at her. He went to his arm, and with his right hand tore off the false skin that lay above his own. The pale arm shown harshly in the dieing light. "This my dark mark!" Draco shouted, tears running down harder.

"I don't even want this! I don't want my past, Hermione, but it is with me." With tears in his eyes, he looked her straight into hers. "Before I tell you who I am, I want to tell you that I always loved you. Before it was a childish fancy, but when I met you for the first time for seven years yesterday I laughed because I truly was in love with you. You could put me under any wizarding oath and I will be telling you the truth."

Hermione slapped in the face, hard enough to send him reeling. "I know who you are, Malfoy. And I can't believe you had the gall to do that to me. To my heart…I hate you!" She screamed. With a snap of her fingers she disapparated, leaving Draco on the beach alone.

"Merlin…why?" Draco whispered into the wind. He looked at the spot where she had gone from. "Hermione, I still love you." He cried. "I will always love you. And that is a promise."

But no one heard him save the wind.

Shadow: This is depressing.

Wang: Now I think I might cry.

Time Stop: Please review, we need your reviews to live. We eat them like people eat bread or drink water. It's vital for us.

Shadow: That's right, please review.

Wang: Wah! _crying_


	5. Chapter 5

Wang: Yay!

Shadow: We got another Chapter up.

Time Stop: We don't own anything, nothing what so ever.

Wang: Yay!

Chapter Four: Post Apocalypse

Hermione apparated into her hotel room with a large snap. Almost immediately she collapsed onto the ground. Richard…Draco…what was he? Hermione hit the ground over and over, screaming at the top of her lungs. She was acting like a child, but she felt she had every right. Richard had ruined her life. Draco had ruined her life.

Hermione stopped suddenly when she heard the door bang. "Hello is everything all right?" Hermione shuddered. It was the voice of one of the clerks.

"Hello?"

Hermione grabbed her wand, and whispered softly. "Colloportus," the door wedged itself against its jam.

"Hello? I know someone is in there." Silence. Hermione breathed softly, and held her wand ready. "I'm coming in." The card inserted itself in the slot, but the door held firm. "What?" The door started to press inward, and a heavy repetitive thump started.

He's breaking in. Hermione knew at once. She has heard more than her fair share of those sounds before. She took her wand, and seamlessly everything was returned to her. She didn't have her shoes; they were back at the beach. They would have to remain; there was no time to go get them. She picked up her bags, and with a crack!, disappeared.

The door busted open a few minutes later, revealing the sore clerk. The clerk looked around the room. "Where did she go?" He asked nobody.

Off across the pond, Hermione landed on the ground in front of an old home. She lay there, crying softly, until two humans exited their abode.

"Honey is that-"the man said. His glasses slipped, and he pushed them up into his green eyes.

"Harry, take her inside, before the kids see." Ginny knelt and helped lift Hermione to her feet. She stumbled, but the combined forces of Harry and Ginny kept her up. Hermione didn't open her eyes, and her face dripped even more with wetness. She was helped about by Harry and Ginny into the spare room. She curled into a ball, and didn't move.

"Harry, go and make me some warm milk. Then check on the kids. I'll stay here." Ginny ordered.

"Right." Harry nodded, leaving the room.

Ginny took out her wand, and silenced the room. "Hermione, it's all right. Tell me, what's going on. The last I heard from you is when you were in San Francisco."

She cried a little. "I…I don't think I'm ready to say."

"Sh, sh." Ginny rubbed her back. Soon, Harry returned with the warm milk. He left, and then returned. The milk was soothing for her throat. In just over an hour, she was asleep, her face still dripping with tears.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. She wouldn't say." Ginny answered. "I'll stay here for now."

"I'll be back around midnight." Harry said. "I'll take over then, you'll need your sleep."

"Wait, where are you going?" Ginny grabbed Harry's arm as he turned to the door.

"The ministry. Maybe I can have one of my friends have it looked at."

"Who?"

"An old friend of mine. Of ours. Of all of us."

"My brother?"

"Yes."

"Harry, he won't help us. He, once he did that to her, then I broke his leg, remember?"

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Then I went and broke his other leg after. I told him I would do that to him if he did that to Hermione. I broke off contact with him after that."

"You can't ask him for help."

"I have to!" Harry shot back. "Ginny, all of us hate Ron, but he has connections in America I need to use. I don't know how long Hermione will be out. The sooner I find out, the sooner I can take revenge."

Ginny nodded. "She won't like it."

"She knows I would do it either way. She's a sister to me and you. I would do anything to help her. And now, seeing her like this, it is like she is dead. Ron broke her heart, and her spirit. I won't have another person breaking her again. She barely recovered the last time. It took us years to get her to talk to us, to help her. I won't have that again."

Harry took out his wand, and gently rubbed the handle. "Believe me, I would do anything to them who hurt her." He looked into her eyes. "Even Ron."

"Harry!" Ginny caught his arm again. "If you do have to hurt the Minister of Magic…"

"What?"

"Bat Bogey him for me, will you?" Ginny smiled a cruel smile at her husband.

"Anything for you." Harry bent down and kissed her gently. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll be waiting."

Harry left the room, leaving his wife to guard Hermione. He left his home, then apparated into the main entrance to the ministry of magic. Using the toilets, he made his way into the foyer of the ministry. Purposely, he went pass the guards, and the wizard and witches remaining in the ministry. He didn't need to check in his wand, everyone knew who he was.

He went past one of his old classmates, Lavender Brown, as she left Ron's office. Her makeup was slightly flustered, and her shirt revealed more cleavage than professionally. She was mad about something, and Harry could tell that easily. Harry entered the office, and stood in front of the desk.

Ron, who was sitting down, was staring out the magiked wall, charmed to show the view from Big Ben. "Lav, I said I am tired now. I told you to come back later." Ron's voice told Harry. His voice was worn, older, more tired than usual.

"Hello, Ronald."Harry spoke, emotionlessly.

"Harry?" Ron turned in his chair, and looked up at him. The years weren't so good for him, his hair turning a premature gray, and his face sagged with wrinkles. "Harry! Long time no see!" Ron stood up, and went around the desk. As he was about to hug his old friend, Harry took out his wand and Ron stopped. "You aren't still ticked over Hermione, are you? Listen, it was her fault Malfoy got away. Not mine."

"You are the one who broke her heart, though." Harry said harshly.

"Then why are you here? I have half a mind to throw you out right now, boy who lived or not!" Ron threatened.

Harry narrowed his eyes, and bat bogeyed him in the face, sending Ron stumbling back. "That was from Ginny." Harry said as Ron sat up from the ground.

"You know, that's assault. I could call in the aurors to throw you away." Ron said. "I am perfectly able to do that, and more than willing."

"I need your contact with the American Ministry."

"Like I would do that for you."

"If you don't I will do more to you than I should." Harry threatened.

"Tell me what about first."

"Someone hurt her. I need to know where she was last."

"Why should I?"

"Because it is Hermione. And you still owe her more than your life."

"From school? Listen, Hermione was a fling to me, nothing else?"

Harry created a large hand, and used it to hold Ron down. "Say that again, and I will have to break something."

"You wouldn't."

"You want to try? I'll break your nose first, followed by your ribs, then your legs."

Ron blanched. "You're bluffing."

"I'm not." Harry said coolly. "Listen, give me access to the American Ministry and I will leave you alone, forever."

Ron scrunched up his face in thought. "Done." He motioned his head to the fireplace. "on the mantle is a blue floo powder. Use it to get to America. They'll help you from there."

Harry nodded. "Thanks." He released the spell.

"Now, go before I call-"Ron threatened as he stood.

Harry turned around and silenced him with a wave of his hands. He then punched Ron in the nose, breaking it. Then he shrunk Ron down to the height of six inches. "That was for me." He said.

"And this," he whispered in Ron's ear, "Is for Hermione!" He threw Ron into the waste bin, and then sent it flowing with water. It continued to flow with water, spilling out onto the floor. Ron held onto a quill, watching as Harry left the room.

"So, we're even now? I won't forget this, Potter! I won't forgive this!" Ron promised as he floated out the room.

"Lavender!" Ron called. "Where are you, you piece of…"

Lavender came around the corner. "Minister! What happened?"

"Potter, that's what."

"Want me to call security?"

"No, just reverse this spell." When the spell was done, Ron stood and ended the curse on the waste bin. "I will have revenge on Potter, but this is personal." He pointed his finger at Lavender. "No word of this appears to anyone."

"Understood."

"Now, I think I have some unfinished business to do." Ron picked up Lavender, and put her on his desk. "Now, where was I?" He said as he _muffliatoed_ and _silencioed_ the room.

Harry left the American Minister's room. He knew where she was. She knew who she talked to, and even where she ate. More importantly, he knew who the one who made her cry was. Using a fireplace, he contacted Ginny.

"Ginny?"

"Harry? Is that you? Where are you?"

"I'm in America. I know who hurt Hermione. I'm going after him."

"Don't wait for me."

"Who'll take care of Hermione?"

"I can take care of myself." Her voice spoke from the bed. "I can do it myself you know. I don't want you to hurt him."

Ginny turned to her. "But you won't even tell me who is it that hurt you."

Harry sighed. "I know. I know who it is. It's Malfoy."

"What?"

"Malfoy, he hurt her. And I'm going to kill the bastard."

"Don't!" Hermione got out of bed, and knelt in front of the fireplace so fast she almost tripped and fell. "Don't! He didn't do anything wrong. I did."

"I'll be the judge of that." Harry said.

"Harry!" Hermione sobbed. But her friend was gone. "Don't I did it. It was my fault."

"Sh, sh." Ginny whispered. "You tell me the story. And I'll help you the best I can here. It'll help to get these things off your chest."

"Alright."

"Mommy?" Ginny turned to the door, and a little girl stood there. Behind her stood two boys, spitting images of their father; as the girl was of their mother.

"Lily, James, Albus, what are you doing up?"

James pointed to the clock on the wall. "It's seven. It's not late at all."

Lily looked and saw Hermione. "Auntie!" She squealed and ran into her 'auntie's' arms.

"Lily!"

"Aunt Hermione?" Albus said. "When did ya get here?"

"Last night." Hermione answered all fatigue and desperation gone in an instant.

"Where were ya, Auntie?" Lily asked.

"Well, I was-"

"Come on, tell us!" Albus and James said. "Tell us! Tell us!" They chanted.

"Boys, I think Aunt Hermione doesn't want to tell us." Ginny said, a smile tugging at her lips.

The two boys tackled Hermione, taking her to the ground. "Tell us! Tell us!" They chanted. Lily sat by her head, cocking her head at an angle and watching the scene.

"Auntie, would you please tell us?" Lily asked, gazing into Hermione's eyes.

Hermione glanced at Lily, and broke down. No one could withstand the force of Lily's puppy dog eyes, no one. "Alright. I'll tell you. But ixnay on the etailday." She murmured to Ginny. She nodded, and Hermione started on her whirlwind adventure. Of her time in the states, to the city of Boston. Where she had found Richard Rolfe, then she had shared a look with Ginny, and how he had stolen her heart.

"Then, he told me who he really was."

"Who's that?" James asked.

"A very bad man. Someone who I knew once, and who was mean to everyone I knew. He is a bad man, and I don't like the fact I liked him."

Lily sighed. "It so romantic!" She burst out. "Love on Amewican soil, just like in Paris!" She crooned. "It so romantic!"

"Yeah," Hermione said, softly. "It is."

Ginny took her cue. "Alright, everyone out. It is time for breakfast. We need to let Auntie sleep, it has been a long day for Auntie, and she needs her rest."

"Aww," the three kids whined. They kissed her on the cheek, before heading out.

Hermione sighed to herself. "Dammit. Why do I still love him?" She dried her eyes, and lay down on the bed. She picked up her sketchpad and a pencil, and slept. She slept soundlessly, and didn't awake until late that night.

Harry entered the café. It was a nice place, a very nice place. Harry sat down and a young man came to see him. "Ah, sir. Is there anything you would like today? Any wine?"

Harry shook his head. "I need to talk to Rolfe, in his office."

"Uh, sir, Chef is not in today. There is the Sous Chef, Phillipe. He is in today for the Chef."

"Any reason why the Chef is not in today?"

"No, sir. I – I should let the Sous Chef tell you." The man led Harry into an office off of the kitchen. A tall, thin man entered shortly.

"Sir, is there anything I could do to help you?"

"I need to know what happened to Rolfe yesterday."

"And why should I tell you? You are nothing, monsieur." Phillipe said his accent grating on Harry's nerves.

"Listen, this is about my friend. I have reason to believe Rolfe hurt her last night."

"So that is why he was crying last night."

"Excuse me?"

Phillipe sat down at the desk, and Harry followed suit. "Chef was crying last night, but for a reason I cannot explain. The only hope I have is that it was from pain."

"What kind of pain?"

"Physical, and emotional. The Madame that was with Chef last night at our annual beach party. When he returned from his private walk with her, I was alone. As was Chef. Chef was alone, and he had his white t-shirt on. Only, it was ripped as though he had torn it on something. He was crying, and could barely walk straight. And he clutched his arm with such force I thought her was bleeding. When I asked him if he wanted help, he refused it. He drove away, telling me to mind the café for a couple of days."

"My friend returned last night with the same, I wonder what happened."

"There I cannot help you, Chef is at home and not here."

"Then give me his address."

"No."

"I can and I will find hi, and find out what happened that night. To take revenge on him."

"Then I cannot let you leave until the authorities arrive." Phillipe stood, and blocked Harry's way out. "As soon as you push past, I call for help, and the entire building will be against you."

"I don't have time for this." He said. "Move aside."

"No."

"Now."

"No."

"Now!"

"Never!" The French accent more nasal and pointed than ever.

"You leave me no choice." Harry muttered.

"Out with it, you British pig!" Phillipe raised his fists.

Harry whipped out his wand. "Obliviate!" Phillipe's mind was suddenly wiped, and Harry apparated away with a crack. Phillipe opened his eyes.

"What was I here for again?" He ponder aloud. Shaking his head, he left the room. "Ah, it's probably not important anyway."

Off behind the store, Harry appeared, his wand tucked away into his sleeve. "Damn that French guy, he really pisses me off." He looked around, looking for any watchers. "Now I know the story, I need to know it from Malfoy. If I let him talk. I'm just glad the American Ministry had him under surveillance, and they know his address."

Harry turned around, and apparated away, appearing in front of a southern style house by a ways from the city. The only problem was, southern style houses from the past didn't have a motorcycle stuck into the wraparound porch. Or blood stains marking the doors and the walls. And it certainly didn't have a puddle of blood around feet off to the side of the hall way.

Harry rushed in, wand out. When he entered the kitchen, he was Draco lying in a puddle of blood. His chest was open to the world, a large board was lying net to him, the top half of it soaked in blood. Upon further inspection, Harry realized the board went through Draco, and the gaping wounds on his back were only covered y the remnants of his shirt.

"Damn it!" Harry muttered. Taking out his wand, he levitated Draco onto the table. As he did so, Draco's limp hand dropped a piece of paper, thankfully out of the blood. With a quick scourgify, the blood was cleaned.

"Tergeo! Vulnera Sanentura! Episky! Ferula!" Harry waved his wand. The blood covering Draco's wounds were gone, allowing the wounds fresh to the world. The second spell sent his deeper cuts into healing, and the light cuts on his arms and legs to heal as well with the third spell. The last spell had him covered in bandages, tied tight.

Harry sighed. "Renner-" but an inner voice told him not to. "He better wake when he can, naturally. Knowing him, it'll take weeks." Harry busied himself by fixing parts of the house, namely the porch. "If I wake him, he might go under before I can talk to him. Before I kill the bugger."

Harry soon finished. The bike, reminding him dearly of Sirius's bike, was no longer a part of the porch. The wood was repaired, and the blood on the porch was cleaned up. Harry sighed again. "Damned bugger. Why am I bloody cleaning his place?" Harry sighed again. "Why am I talking to myself again?" He mentally slapped himself. Stupid, annoying habit.

Harry went back into the kitchen, where Draco still lay, unconscious. Harry set about making himself a plate of food. Scouring the fridge, he found nothing. Checking the cupboards, all he could find was raw ingredients. "What, doesn't he keep leftovers?"

He tried to remember how to make that one recipe. Taking a large pot, he started up the stove. Then, he found the pasta, and started to grate cheese. When the water boiled, he dropped in the macaroni. He grated cheese, adding in the spices he always added when he made mac and cheese. Once it was done, he leaned against the counter, and ate. As he ate, he watched. As he watched, he ate. And so the hours passed. The dishes were put away, a quick scourgify did that. The pots as well. Everything was in order, except for Draco, seemingly asleep on the table.

Harry sighed. He waved his wand absently. "Accio something to read." Books of all shapes and sizes flew at him, but a quick spell froze them in midair. Of the titles he read, most of the Dicken's classics or nineteenth century American novels, one stood out. Dark Signs, Brighter Hopes. By Richard Rofle.

Harry paused. Did Malfoy write this? He waved his wand, and returned the other books to the shelves. Leaning against the counter, he started to read. As he did so, his eyebrows raised themselves to get lost in his hair. His eyes widened as he continued to read.

Now, it was said when he helped Hermione in her stories, the ones about himself and his adventures, that the author reveals more about themselves in the work than they want to. Who wants to write themselves into a story anyway? They write about people who solve problems they never could. Now, reading Malfoy's work, Harry and to tip his hat to hi enemy.

Malfoy could write, no doubt about it.

And what he wrote about, it was as if he put himself into the story. More than Malfoy could ever realize, he was the story. The story was about a man who made some stupid mistakes, dealing with gangs and drugs, led on by his clinically insane father and the gang boss, who took him as his protégé, and how he took his life around. The protagonist was saved through the combined efforts of his childhood rival, the son of policeman, and the girl that he had once hurt badly when he was younger. Despite that, he was saved.

Harry wasn't dumb. He might have gotten only a few Outstandings on his OWLS, but Harry could tell it was his story set into a modern context. Only no Ron Weasley. That was all right. But, he was saved? He read the stories of the book, how the protagonist had done terrible things, absolutely terrible things to the community he lived in. but he redeemed himself by saving the girl from drowning. Then by showing the police the hideout of his father and the gang boss.

That never happened though. The true story is already published.

Harry laid aside the book. "Malfoy, what are you playing at?" He stood over the unconscious body. "When I look at you here, knowing what happened to you, it's hard to hate you. What have you done? What are you?"

Below him, Draco's body twitched slightly. Harry jumped back in alarm, wand out. Draco, he opened his eyes a tad bit, and reached into nothingness, but thumped back onto the table with a thud. While he still looked asleep, he started to toss and turn. His arms grabbed wildly at nothing ahead of him, and his legs kicked out sporadically.

"He's running," he noted. "Why?"

"Hermione." Draco moaned softly. "Don't go." Draco moved closer to the edge of the table, and fell off. He landed on the ground with a jolt, but that didn't wake him up. He laid there, arms outstretched, tears in his eyes, and hands reaching desperately for a phantom. "Please, don't leave me. Hermione, I love you."

Harry levitated Draco back onto the table. "Bloody hell. Malfoy, what happened to you?"

Hermione woke with a start. The pencil that was in her hand smacked into her face, close enough to her eye to make her heart race. The sketchpad that she held in her hand was flying across the room. It was dark out, late. She only could tell that through the blinds.

So, as she rubbed her eyes and calmed her heart, she fought down tears. Malfoy, that bugger. That complete…arse! Damn him! Damn him for all eternity! She threw her pencil against the wall, but it rebounded and thudded into her head again.

"Ow," Hermione whispered softly as she rubbed her head. She turned on the lights, and saw Lily sleeping at the foot of the bed. By her head rested the sketchpad, opened to a blank page. Hermione sighed, and picked up the book. As she did, Lily sprang open her eyes, and jumped at her.

"Auntie! You're awake!" Lily squealed. She landed in Hermione's arms, making her drop the book to the first page.

"Sh, Lily, we have to be quiet."

Lily nodded, pressing her finger to her lips. "Okay, we gotta be quiet." She whispered. She looked down at the picture, and pointed to the drawing. "What's that?" She asked.

"It's some drawings I did. Do you want to look?"

Lily nodded excitedly. "Yes!" She said.

"Sh!" Hermione whispered, her finger to her lips.

"Sorry," the little girl apologized, mimicking her motions. "Sh."

The laid down on the bed, and Hermione turned the book to face them. They went through her drawings in her sketchpad. The first couple were of some animals, and a few a people. On the tenth page, Hermione paused. Lily was looking at the picture she had drawn, and Hermione had to close her eyes.

It was the one she gave Richard – Draco. It was…it was a beautiful picture, even if it wasn't fully completed yet. But it hurt her to look at it, it reminded her of Draco to clearly. She sighed. Tears formed in her eyes, and they splashed down upon the paper. Draco…damn him!

"Auntie? Why are ya crying?"

Hermione quickly dried her eyes. "It's nothing."

"Is it the picture? It looks very pretty." Lily whispered.

"No, it's the person I drew that for. He is the one who…he makes me cry a lot nowadays."

"Is he a bad person?"

"No." Hermione whispered. Her eyes glazed over as she stared into the distance. "He isn't a bad person at all. He, he just kept something very important from me. When I found out, that's when he made me sad."

Lily turned the page. "Is this him?" She pointed to the face of Ron.

Hermione put her hand on the picture. "No. This man here is a person I love more dearly than anything else. He…I love him."

"Do you love him more than me?" She asked.

Hermione brought Lily closer, tickling her gently. "Almost, but not quite. You're my favorite niece, how could I love someone more than you?"

"But Auntie, I _am_ your only niece." Lily pouted, despite the laughter in her eyes.

"Oh, I forgot." She tickled her niece further, erupting giggles from the two of them.

Outside the room, footsteps stomped loudly. The quickly silenced themselves, and waited for the feet to return to bed. Once it was quiet again, they burst out in silent giggles. When they finished, the sketchpad was opened to Ron's face, staring at them silently.

Lily turned the page, showing a new scene. "Auntie, why do you have the same picture twice?"

Hermione looked down, and saw the same picture she drew about two days ago. The scene was the same as the one she made for Richard. Only for two slight details. The pencil marks dotting the bottom of the page were gone, and a pair of wolves laid down, resting their heads on each other. Out on the lake stood a boat, the water ripples showing that the boat had stopped for a while, and was spinning in place. But in the boat sat two figures, one definitely Hermione and the other one definitely Draco. They were holding hands, the light shining their hair into a multitude of sparkles, setting them a glow.

"Auntie! Look, it's you!" Lily pointed to the drawing. "Who's that man?"

"It's the man who hurt me. I...i don't know why...why he is in that drawing at all."

Lily turned the page while her Auntie spoke. "Is this him?" She pointed to the drawing of the man, staring at her with those cool eyes of his.

"Yes." Hermione laid a hand on the face, gently tracing the cheek. "Yes it is."

"He's very pretty." Lily commented. "I think him and ya are perfect together. Ya two look so pretty."

"But he hurt me, Lily. I don't expect you to understand."

"Auntie? Did ya love him?"

"I - no. I didn't love him. I might have liked him but that doesn't mean-"

"Did he love ya?"

"I...What does that have to do with anything?"

Lily ran out of the room. A couple of seconds she returned with a big book of muggle stories. "It's gotta do with everything! Don't ya know every story there is true love?"

"Lily, it doesn't work like that." Hermione responded sullenly. "It doesn't in real life."

Lily ripped two pages out of the sketchpad. "This is the man who hurt ya." She laid Draco's face to the side. "And this is the man who ya love, right?" She put Ron's picture next to Draco's.

"Right, but-"

"But who treated ya like a princess?"

Hermione looked at Lily. "What are you getting at young lady?" She asked. Her voice spoke of the dangers of ignoring her.

"I want ya to be happy! It always says in the stories that the prince is the guy who treats the girl like a princess. The way ya told me, the man who ya hate is the one perfect for you."

"Lily!" Hermione said harshly. The child cringed back. "Those stories never come true at all! They are fiction! They never happen in real life!"

Lily teared up. She picked up her book. "Auntie, I just want ya to be happy." She turned around. She left the bed, and hesitated by the door. "But Auntie, who made you happy? And truly happy?"

Lily left her, with two pictures staring into her soul.

Ronald, he was the man she had dreamed of. The man who would be there for her. But he was never there. He loved someone else. He was never with her at all. He hated her, yet she loved him. He was there for her, though, when they were younger. Harry and him, they were her best mates. But now she had no one.

Draco, he was the man she had hated for years. The man who ruined her life recently. But he was there for her, a perfect gentleman to her in the past couple days. Even when he knew who she was. But, he was the enemy when they were younger. He ruined her school life, and tried to hurt her so many times she couldn't remember them all. But he was all alone now, desperate for her.

What's going on! How did it come to this? A choice between her former best friend and the lover that betrayed her. Ron had so many memories about her, and all Draco did was hurt her. But Ron hurt her harder than Draco could ever, until she fell in love with him that is,

Love with Draco? How did that happen? He was the enemy. She had sent him to America to be exiled for life. Now she was drawing him in her sleep. What was with her? Hermione threw the pillow aside, and it covered up Ron's drawing. But she didn't uncover it. For once, it was good not to look at Ron's face.

"Dear God, what have I done? Merlin, what am I to do?" Hermione stood up and dressed herself. Ironically, it was in Draco's clothes. "Do I follow my heart? Or my soul? Where I think I belong, or where I truly belong?"

Lily's voice echoed in her heart. 'Auntie, I just want ya to be happy. But Auntie, who made ya happy? And truly happy?'

"Lily! Hermione left her room. She ran down the hall to Lily's room, and jumped into her bed, startling the crying child.

"Auntie?" Lily asked sleepily.

"Thank you, Lily! I finally know what to do now!" She held the little girl close, and cried into her shoulder. "Thank you!"

Ginny entered the room at dawn, and found the two of them holding each other. "Nice night?"

Hermione woke up, and tackled her friend. "Ginny, Lily helped me to find out the right path."

"She did? Well, she learned form the best." Ginny smirked.

"Ginny, I need to see Ron."

"What!"

Harry continued to watch Draco long into the night. He started to doze, his eyes struggling to keep awake. "Uh." Harry's eyes snapped open. On the table, Draco was slowly rising. "Ow."

Harry raised his wand, and a giant hand gently pushed Draco down. "Malfoy. You're awake."

"Potter. It has been a long time,"

"What did you do to Hermione?"

Draco's eyes teared up. "She apparated to you. I should have known."

"Answer the question, Malfoy!"

"It started about two days ago. She entered my café. She was just another customer. She wouldn't take anyone else's food, so I made her some of mine."

"You used a love potion on her, how low."

"Potter, if you haven't forgotten, the second I touch a wand or anything else magic related I am killed."

"Then how did she fall in love with you."

"Listen, Potter. This is a mutual hurt. As soon as I learned her name, I almost lost it. I blanked out for a while. When the store closed later that day, she came to me, 'cause I invited her to come back to listen to the local poets. That was before I knew who she was. We went to my house for some food. Then we had wine. She was surprisingly resolute when it came to having me in bed."

"What did you do!"

"She told me to sleep with her, Damn it! She was completely sober when she made that decision. As was I."

"Now I am going to kill you."

Draco snapped up, but his injuries caused him to lay back down. Surprisingly, the large hand Harry conjured up had no effect on Draco. In fact, the hand disappeared as he rose, only to reappear as he laid back down. "For what?"

"You made her cry, simple as that. You hurt her."

"Do you want to know how I hurt her?" Draco snapped back. "To tell the truth, it was keeping my identity secret was what made her cry."

"What?"

"Yesterday, at least I think it was yesterday-"

"It was."

"Thanks. We went to a beach party my work hosts once a year. When we went, we fell closer in love. Thing is, when she told me she loved me, I snapped. I showed her the scars you gave me in sixth year, and my dark mark. She freaked out. She...she hated me for what I did."

"And she has every right."

"For what? Because I kept my secret from her, she fell in love with me. Now, I don't want to be selfish, but I wish I could have kept the secret until later. But what won't happen, not anymore."

"You do deserve to die."

"Fine then. Not having Hermione close to me is worse than death." Draco shrugged.

Harry stopped his spell. He released the hand, and helped Draco to his feet. "You really mean it, don't you."

"You know how I crashed my bike?"

"No."

"I crashed it 'cause I couldn't see where I was going. My tears covered my vision. I didn't even try to go after her. If it makes her happy to be far from me, then I am content to let her go."

"'Content?'"

"Well, I won't be happy, but when she is happy, I am happy."

"You're different. More than I could ever imagine."

Draco socked Harry in the arm. "Harry, you should know by now that I am different."

"You called me Harry, and her Hermione."

"That is your name, right? Not unless your name is something else."

"What's your game." Harry barked, his wand in hand, pointed to Draco's throat. "You are just evil, you know."

"Harry, I might have been evil once, but we both know I am not evil now. Listen, I can't harm anyone, especially not a woman. I couldn't kill Dumbledore or anyone else at all, how could I hurt Hermione."

Harry paused. "You have me there. You really love her, do you?"

"Harry, the past two days for me I found heaven then I let it slip through my fingers. Because of my own sins. I...I will never see her again, will I?"

"Probably not."

"Then, take care of her for me. And tell her, that I am sorry."

"She knows."

"No. I'm sorry about all the crap I gave you and Ron and Hermione all those years. I'm sorry for everything. I am truly sorry. If I could tell her in person my life would be better off, but I can't. So, kill me now, but grant me my last request."

"Why are you so changed? You used to be hard and collected. Now you are just...a lover. A Romeo without her Juliet."

"I came here, to America. At first I was distraught, but I learned to live without magic. I found some friends, and they helped me to learn new skills. I even became nice with actual friends."

"And those guys you hung around with at Hogwarts?"

"Political alliances. I did everything for my parents, I was practically forced to. If not, then it would be back to father for a crucio punishment, but that's nothing compared to the choker."

Harry reached over to Draco, and surprising the both of them, hugged him. "Draco. May Merlin or God or whoever help your journey."

Harry turned and walk out the kitchen. Draco stood up, keeling over in pain, and followed him. "You aren't going to kill me?"

"No, I will talk to Hermione for you, show prof to her you are changed."

"Don't, please."

"I have to. For you are one in a million, Draco."

"You called me Draco."

"So I did." Harry turned. "To tell you the truth, I would rather have you over any other bloke she picks in the world, especially Ron Weasley."

"Wait, what's with Ron?" Draco asked.

But it was too late, Harry apparated from view. Draco sat down on the front step, holding his side. He stared at the spot where Harry had apparated from. "What's with Ron?" Draco asked no one.

He turned, and tried to enter his house, but chose instead to sit down again when the pain shot through his chest. "Will he really do that for me?" Draco asked breathlessly. "Will...Will I see her again?"

Time Stop: Another Chapter up, another day gone.

Shadow: Time flies by.

Wang: Guys! A Second Chance is over a year old!

Time Stop: Woah, we've been writing for over a year?

Shadow: I think I need to sit down.

Wang: Please Review. We'll finish it up soon!

Time Stop: Remember, the more reviews we get, the more likely it would be that this doesn't end up a tragedy.

Shadow: Review! Please!


	6. Chapter 6

Time Stop: We're done.

Wang: Our first fic done!

Shadow: Alright, you know the drill. We don't own anything.

Chapter Five: El Fin

Harry appeared on his front porch. He took a second to steady himself. "How am I going to convince her that Draco is a good guy?" He sighed. "This is going to be harder than I thought."

He entered his home, and found Ginny and their kids at the table, eating breakfast. "Harry! You're back!"

"Daddy!" The three kids tackled their father, but he stood straight and didn't bend.

"Honey, where's Hermione?"

"Harry, what's going on?" Ginny stood, and held her husband's hands.

"I met with Draco."

"Draco? Don't you mean Malfoy?"

"I mean Draco."

"Who's Draco?" James asked.

"Yeah, Daddy, who's Draco?" Albus chimed in.

"He's going to be a friend of the family from now on."

"Will he visit?"

"Yeah, will he visit?"

"He won't be able to for a while."

"Why not?"

"Why?"

"Daddy, is Draco Auntie's friend?" Lily asked, tugging on Harry's pants.

"Yes." Harry replied. "Wait, how did you know?"

"Auntie told me this morning." Lily giggled. "He's the man who hurt Auntie, but she loves him."

Harry sighed. "Where is Auntie then?"

"She's gone." Ginny answered sadly. "She told me she was going to see my brother. She left soon after that."

Harry slumped to the ground. "Oh, Merlin. Then we're too late."

Ginny crouched next to him. "What's too late?"

"When I talked to Draco, he…he acted differently. He wanted me to kill him, for he said that would be better than living without Hermione."

"He loves her truly?"

"More than I think he knows. He…I think he cried when I told him I would be talking to Hermione for him."

"Then go after her." Ginny said, standing up. "You can still catch her."

"You want to go after her? This is Hermione we're talking about. Once she has her course, she won't stop for anything."

Ginny sat down next to him. "Then we need to hope for a rescue."

"Pray, and hope. That's all we can do." And so the Potter family sat in a pile, praying to whoever was out there for an interception. Hermione needed help, that's all there was too it.

Ron turned around in his seat. Across the room stood Hermione, that one time fling. She was wearing men's clothes, of all things. They hung off of her good. Now, if she wasn't so pissed looking.

"Hermione,"Ron said, standing up to look down at her, "good to see you."

"Ronald."

"So, what brings you to the Ministry today?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Ron mentally slapped himself on the back. He still had it! Once he was through with Hermione, he would go on the next girl. But, she was rather pretty, rather prettier than those other girls he had. In fact, she would be the best she had for a long time. She would be putty in his hands before long.

"So, any particular reason why you are here?"

"Um, you do know I have been in America and abroad for a long time."

"Yes."

"So that's why I haven't been able to do this until now."

Ron's ears perked up. With a slight wave of his hand, the room was silence, and locked. Now, when she moved closer, she would be his.

"Do what?" Ron asked innocently.

"I made a choice, and I'm not going back on it."

Ron leaned in closer. "Then out with it, I'm dying to know what it is." Ron was truly dying then, if he didn't release himself, he wouldn't last much longer.

"I'm in love."

Draco wrapped himself a new bandage in the morning. He had debated on going to the hospital, but that would raise questions, questions he couldn't answer. Instead, he returned to the café.

"Chef! You're back!"

"Phillipe, take care of the café. I'm be doing only clerical work today."

"Yes, Chef."

"Also, tonight is the night of the full moon, we'll open the skylight for a moonlight performance."

"Yes, Chef." The thin chef turned away, but turned back a second later. "Chef, are you alright?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"I am quite sure, now make sure all is prepared for tonight. I'll be in the dining area in a couple of hours, I have some paper work to do."

Draco sat down, and turned on his laptop. Opening his file, he started to type. But nothing could come out. Nothing could come onto the blank screen. Frustrated, his thoughts wandered, and he found himself thinking of a certain someone. At once his eyes watered. He slammed the laptop closed, and he turned to face the wall.

"Why? Why?" Draco muttered to himself. "Come on, Harry. Work your magic."

But Harry wouldn't be able to save the day again. No one could sway Hermione's decision. Now, it was up to Hermione's choice. Which path she would choose. Who would she choose?

Ron fixed his shirt. Across the room, Hermione breathed heavily, her clothes askew.

"You're serious."

"I am."

"Then I can't give you what you want."

"You will, I need it."

"Can't do it." Ron sneered. "After what you did, why should I?"

"Because if you don't, then I will do better than that,"

Ron gulped. "Try it."

"I will." Hermione smiled evilly. "I have no regrets."

"You will."

She launched herself at him, and he grabbed her.

Draco sat in the café, drinking hot black coffee. It stung on the way down, tasting bitter, but it was good for him. It kept the pain down. He greeted some of his usuals. The music was starting later than normal. It was closer to noon than he wanted it to be. He might not have the energy to do so.

"Come on, Harry, hurry up."

Phillipe came up to him. "Chef, anything I can get you?"

"No, I'm alright."

"Okay, Chef."

As the man walked away, he slumped into his seat. "Harry, I need your help now. Help Hermione." He bowed his head slightly and offered a silent prayer to anyone out there. "Please, help me."

Ron watched as Hermione stood up. She wiped sweat off of her brow, and hair out of her mouth. "Thank you, Ron."

"Anytime," Ron wheezed. Hermione stepped back.

"I'll be seeing you, later."

"Same here." Ron whispered. He rubbed his wrists. She was crazy, plain crazy. And he went with it, that's what amazed him. "I need a good screw." Ron muttered. Grabbing his coat, and his wand, he left for the Leaky Cauldron. "Hermione, good riddance!"

Draco stood in the middle of the floor. On the stage, the third band was playing a slow, sad song. It fitted him perfectly. The noon sun shown sown through the skylight. It shown on Draco like a spotlight, and he was highlighted out of the others on the floor, swaying to the music.

A young woman walked onto the floor. She stood in front of Draco, and held his hand. "Dance with me." She begged.

Draco looked at her. She was beautiful, but she wasn't anything like Hermione. With that thought his tears came alive, but he forced them down. He wouldn't cry, not in front of his customers.

"I'm sorry, but I can't." Draco turned around, despite her protests. He now faced the stage, watching as the musicians seemed to sink lower into despair. A hand tapped his shoulder. "I told you, I can't. I'm in love with someone else."

The hand tapped again.

"What?" Draco turned, and before him stood Hermione. She still wore his clothes, and that sight sent raw hunger coursing through him. "Hermione? What are you-"

"Draco, I made my decision, and I need to tell you." Hermione grabbed Draco's hand, and the two of them started to dance to the music. "I saw Ron today."

"Ron." Draco said. "What did you do?" His heart sank, but the music started to intensify for some reason.

"I came to get a repeal."

Draco stopped dancing. "What?"

Hermione gave him a paper, showing the decree. "It says you aren't exiled any longer."

"But…why?"

"Draco…I made some stupid mistakes."

"I can't leave, here is my home." Draco smiled a sad smile at her. "I'm sorry."

Hermione sighed. "Then I have to move out here then."

Draco raised his eyes. "You'll do what?"

"I saw Ron to get your exile repealed, and to tell him I made my choice. You're my choice." Tears welled up in their eyes. "Draco, I love you."

Draco gently raised her head, and pressed his lips to hers. Across the café, customers clapped and cheered as they kissed. Phillipe smiled a small smile, before ordering the cooks to resume their duties. The musicians moved to a different song, one that was happy, yet still slow. They stayed like that for a good long time, kissing in each other's arms.

"Draco, I-" Hermione whispered. But her voice was stilled as Draco placed a finger on her lips, silencing her.

"Let's not ruin the moment." He whispered in her ear.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her head into his shoulder. Draco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. His head buried itself into her hair. They stayed like that for a good long time, under the skylight, outlined by the sun.

Shadow: So, we couldn't make it a tragedy.

Wang: Our hearts weren't in it.

Time Stop: Pease Review!

Wang: Please! We love all of your reviews!


End file.
